I will tell you what I can while I can. It is important for me to remember as much as about myself and my life as possible, because I do not know how much longer I can hold onto it. You see, I believe that I am losing my mind.
My name is Lori Bankhead. I am a 22 year-old senior at a small private college in the South. I grew up in a Midwestern suburb. My parents were, as far as I can tell, a happy, well-adjusted couple. My siblings and I grew up in a loving home. I have a good relationship with all of my family.
My childhood and adolescence were what most people would call a typical American upbringing. And I guess that I would be considered an all-American girl. I grew up playing with dolls, then dating ordinary guys, and went to an ordinary college. So why am I losing my mind?
There was nothing spectacular about my college experience until about 48 hours ago. As a nursing major, I frequently put in many late nights at the library. Two nights ago I was walking across campus around 11 o'clock, right after the library closed. I intended to walk to my apartment, which is in a building right off the south end of campus.
As I was crossing the street in front of my apartment building, I heard the sound of running footsteps behind me. I turned, just in time to see two large men, dressed all in black, and wearing ski masks. They were running at me! I barely had time to drop my books and reach into my purse for my can of pepper spray before they were on me. One of them placed a rag over my mouth, soaked in chloroform or some other sleep agent, and everything went black.
When I woke up, I knew that some amount of time had passed because I could feel sunlight on my face. I opened my eyes and tried to make sense of my surroundings. I was in a small room, lying on a small bed. I attempted to get up, and then I realized that my hands and feet were bound. I tested my arms, which were tied at the wrists above my head to the headboard. The restraints were not tight, but they were firm, with absolutely no give. My legs, likewise, were tied just above the cuff of my jeans, not tightly, but firmly. The only relief was that I was still fully-clothed.
However, I began to feel dread. What in the world could this be about? Ransom? My family is far from rich. Rape? Then why was I still clothed? Some sick Jeffery Dahmer-like serial killer? Then why was I still alive?
The door swung open, and one of the men from the previous night stepped in. This time he was wearing jeans and a T-shirt, but his face was covered by a pillow cushion with eye and mouth holes torn into it.
"Comfy?", he asked.
"Where am I? How long have I been here? Who are you? What do you want?" The questions pored out of me.
"Shhh" he said, holding a finger up to his lips. "All answers will be given in my own time, not yours. However I can tell you three things, one: you have been here about ten hours. And two: you have not been, nor will you be raped. Furthermore, if you believe me and cooperate, you will not be harmed."
"Believe what?"
"Believe that you will not be harmed."
"When will you let me go?"
"Soon enough. Do you believe me?"
"Why should I?"
"Because you're getting out of here is dependent on it." "All right." I said. "I believe you."
Then he moved over to the bed and sat on the edge. He turned towards me and began to move his fingers in my ribcage. It tickled. I couldn't help myself, I giggled. He did it again, with more ferociousness. I began to laugh. Then he went at my belly, lifting up my T-shirt and really working his hands in my flesh. At this point, I was laughing hysterically. I have always been ticklish. Being the youngest in my family, I was the perfect target for my older brothers and sisters. They would trade off, tickling me mercilessly for what seemed to be hours on end. This man seemed to be an expert. He went at my stomach, ribs, and underarms, somehow knowing exactly what to do and where to do it for maximum effect. He kneaded my ribs. He stroked my belly. He ran one finger inside of my underarm in circles endlessly, reducing me to helpless gales of laughter and screaming.
"Please, no more, no more, stop!" I pleaded.
After what must have been hours (the sun had changed position considerably) he stopped. Both of us were panting and sweating. It was all that I could do to draw a breath. Without a word, he left. Exhausted, I passed out.
When I woke up, the sun had almost set completely. I began to wonder how I could get myself out of this. Despite the hours of squirming, the ropes that held me in place were still firm. I was ashamed of myself, partly for begging and partly because I had wet myself.
The door opened, and the other man from the previous night entered. Despite the fact that they were dressed identically, I could tell that this was a different man because he was slightly taller and broader in the shoulders.
"So how did you like my friend?" he asked.
I was afraid to respond.
"He moved too the foot of the bed. Although I had a feeling what was next, I couldn't bear to think of it. An incident from my childhood passed through my mind.
When I was twelve, I had gotten angry with one of my brothers for one reason or another. As revenge, I stole some of his most valuable comic books and hid them. He tore the house apart looking for them, to no avail. I had hidden them in the shed in our back yard. He and one of his friends cornered me one day when nobody was home. His friend sat on my stomach, holding my arms down. My brother sat on my legs and began to tickle my feet. In less than five minutes, I told him where his comics were, but he was not done by a long shot, and continued for more than half an hour...
The realization that my other kidnapper was untying my shoes brought me back to the present. Again, despite my best intentions, I began to beg.
"Oh please, no, not my feet, anything but that, don't!"
"Now, now, now, none of that." He said in a patronizing tone. "It's a waste of energy."
He slowly pulled my shoes off of my feet. He then took my socks off, slowly, relishing the fear in my eyes. My naked, helpless feet felt very cold.
"Let's play a game of piggies," he said as though he were speaking to a five year-old. And then he began to do just that. Working over my toes, stroking each one, top and bottom, and even working his fingers between the toes. I tried not to laugh or squirm, but I couldn't help twitching and giggling.
"This little piggy went to market..."
"Aughh! HA-HA-HA-HA!"
He then began to stroke under each toe, on the balls of my feet. Each stroke was like a jolt of electricity shooting up my body. And then the strangest thing happened. Despite my fear and discomfort, I began to feel strangely aroused. This set off another round of pleas in between the laughter and gasps. "HA-HA-oh please stop, please stop, no more, I can't take it, please Please PLEASE!!!!!!!!"
He stopped. For about thirty seconds. By the time I was about to catch my breath, he began to make long, slow strokes up and down my soles. Cooing and talking baby talk to me as he went. "Your soles are so soft, so tender, so sweet. Gitchy-gitchy-goo!" "OH God, please no more please no more please no more HA-HA-HA!" Then he moved to my insteps. Tracing circles in my arches. I began to buck against my restraints.
"HA-HA-HEE-HEE-HA-ARRGH!!!!!"
Then I realized that the wetness in my crotch was not entirely from the loss of control of bodily functions.
"Do you like this?" he asked.
"No! No more, please!" I wailed.
"I bet you do like it. Tell me you like it."
"No, I can't!"
"Tell me you like it and I'll stop."
I was desperate enough to try anything.
"I like it." I gasped.
"I don't believe you."
"I like it!"
"Beg me to keep it up!"
How much longer with this cruelty? I didn't know what to say. So I gasped out "I like it! I like it! Please, give me more! Please!"
"Since you like it so much, I guess I'll have to keep going!" he said.
At this point, I was gibbering and blubbering like a baby. The last thing I heard was him cooing at me before I blacked out.
When I woke up, it was morning again. I laid there for about five minutes, then the door opened. It was the first captor, who brought me a couple of pieces of fruit and fed them to me. He then gave me some water. I wanted to spit it into his face, but I knew that I needed it.
I guess it was inevitable, and he started in on me again. Then the other one came. And the events of the first day repeated themselves. No matter what my resolve, no matter what I tried, I eventually began giggling, then laughing, then squirming, then pleading, and then gibbering all over again. And again I wet myself, in both ways that such a thing is possible.
I'm still here. I expect them to be back soon. And I don't know how much more I can take. Because, despite my fear, my desire to leave, and my shame, part of me wants them to return...

Thanks go out to JackG2 for writing this story. Thanks Jack, I really, REALLY appreciate this! If you have more, please send!!! :-)